There’s scarlet branches
In the fighting grass
In world’s tiered of roots
Twisting from treetops
The vines seeking shelter
From such stark semblance
Of childhood
The (o’ercast/European) weather
All is fallen
When thy take a drink of life
Aqua vitae
Laska moya
Ramandolo
A golden grape
Dried in the winter sun
The early spring snow
The gravity
The angels that lie in their thrones
Being thrown
And the angel that listens to thee
That muses thy lines to song
And symbiosis
In deliverance
Synecdoche
Cannot quite see through worlds’
Though speak the tongue
So then reel it in
’Til to last nothing’s even
Been said at all
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